


To honor Eilistraee

by Andaletahina



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Religious Cults, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andaletahina/pseuds/Andaletahina
Summary: A male Drow, who'd escaped Menzoberranzan years ago, living as a mercenary. He became part of an adventuring party and arrived in Gauntlgrym. The shrine of the goddess Eilistraee took him in trying to help him dealing with past trauma.
Relationships: Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s), Original D&D Character(s)/Other(s), Original Drow Character(s)/Original Elf Character(s)
Kudos: 6





	To honor Eilistraee

**Author's Note:**

> Infos about Eilistraee: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Eilistraee
> 
> Infos about the Drow: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Drow
> 
> First prayer is by me  
> Last prayer at the end is a slightly changed verse of the song "savage dauther"

The priestess of Eilistraee observed the mixed emotions of excitement and trepidation that her insightful gaze could discern behind the well-practiced mask of indifference on the face of the male Drow. He had escaped Menzoberranzan quite some time ago, but he only arrived in Gauntlgrym and in the care of the Eilistraeans about two tendays earlier.

“Remember what we talked about. Nothing will happen that you do not want. If you want to stop, say ‘stop’ and we… I will do so immediately”, she told him. “This night we honor Eilistraee. We celebrate the full moon and our freedom.”  
He swallowed and nodded, following behind her.

The shrine of Eilistraee of Gauntlgrym had a well-hidden exit leading to the face of the mountain. It led to a balcony like ledge with a balustrade. From it, one had a breathtaking view of the snow-covered mountain range and the orange glow of Mount Hotenow not far off.

The priestess led the latest disciple through and showed him outside. The surface was a scary place for every Drow that had grown up in the Underdark and he gazed in wonder and fear at the sky. It was full night and the dark canopy above him sparkled with countless stars.  
The night air still held the cold of winter and carried the smell of snow in it. However, thanks to magical preparation the two Drow did not feel the bite, as they walked barefoot only clad in beautiful silk robes out on the smooth polished stone ledge. 

From their place a few steps out of the door, the priestess pointed out the preeminent views on display, explaining what they saw, intermingling the illustrations with more assurances to calm the nervousness of her companion. 

“You have lived with us for a bit now. Practicing the faith and serving Eilistraee is nothing like what you know from the religious practices from the place you were raised.  
You are free.  
You are here of your own free will.  
And you are free to leave this ritual, at any time and no repercussions will befall you.”

She placed her hands on the knot in the sash that held her robe together, as she turned to him.  
“This night is not about your blood. If we spend it dancing the blade dance under the full moon and rejoicing in the prayers and movements of the Dark Maiden’s dance, I’ll consider it a night well spend. You are neither a tool nor a stud, here to sire powerful children. In fact, should it come to it and mind you, I don’t take that for granted – I took and will take every step to prevent such a thing,” she told him, looking him straight in the eye.

Her pale lilac eyes were very serious when she repeated: “Nothing will happen that you do not want. If you want to stop, say ‘stop’ and I will do so immediately. We are here to honor Eilistraee. We will share in the passion of the Dancing Maiden and if it feels right for you – our lust.”  
At the last bit, her lips curved into an involuntary smile – a smile that was reflected on the face of her companion, who started to visibly relax, a fact she noticed with relief.  
Still smiling she gave him a reassuring nod and unknotted the sash. With a whisper of silk over dark grey-lavender skin dotted with silver dragon scales, her robe fell to the stone floor of the balcony.  
Completely naked, silver-white hair reaching the small of her back she glided with smooth, dance-like steps to the natural stone railing, where she raised her slender arms, greeting the full moon, that rose over the mountains, gilding everything with silver light.

“The world begins in Darkness  
We know the mysteries enacted in that Darkness  
We saw the light spring forth  
The black void giving birth to the Dark Dancer,  
our Lady Silverhair

Elistraee I call to thee!  
Moonlight might fade, but your splendor never will  
The Dark might come and fill the sky  
But in your presence it will be a wisdom-giving dark  
A Darkness of grace and dance

May my voice reach you  
Let your dark be my light  
Let your light be my dark  
As I cry the Darksong.

The moonlight will guide us  
As the honour shields us  
And the sword protects us.”

The prayer sounded like a song, the last part almost a battle cry. Her slender elven form swayed and enticed. He knew that they had planned to go through the forms and stanzas of the blade dance, that the Eilistraeans taught him. But what she said, before the prayer started, had hit deeply.  
She was right.  
He was not here, because there was no other choice.  
This was not some dark ritual of debauchery, air filled with the cloying scent of narcotics. A dark place, where he was nothing but a means to an end. A mindless instrument, to be used to sire children and then easily discarded, as the cruel servants of Lolth saw fit.

The mountain air was clear and at the same time, it went more to his head, than the mind-numbing analgesics the Lolth priestesses favored, ever had.  
As the Eilistraee priestess recited the prayer, he too disrobed. His white hair tickled on his bare shoulders as he bared his anthracite grey skin covered with red dragon scales.  
He and the priestess had many things in common, among them draconic ancestors – even if silver and red were the opposite ends of the spectrum. And maybe it was that opposition that called to him, a need to see ice and fire clash and intermingle? Or maybe it was simply that he wanted her.

Her long silver-white tresses swayed over her well rounded behind. The movement of her slender arms and shapely legs. The dip of her waist, the flare of her hips and the curve of her breasts – all accentuated by the silver scales, as if an artist had chosen the placement to enhance the elegant, feminine lines. 

Her face was serene and already held a hint of ecstasy. All he could think of was how much he wanted to feel her skin and scales against his. All he wanted was to bend her over that balustrade, losing himself inside her lush body. And before the thought was fully formed, he had closed the distance between their bodies and started to enact them.

When his mind caught up with his actions, he came to a stuttering halt, but he already had the beautiful female form in his arms. Her body curved against his, her hands steading her against the stone of the railing. She turned her head, gazing over her shoulder with concern.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked, searching his face for signs of apprehension.  
“The… dance…? You said after the prayer… we would go through the stanzas…?” he asked haltingly.  
The last thing he wanted to do was stop. However, he also did not want to be disrespectful of the customs of those who had taken him in.  
He could feel a throaty laugh reverberate through her body; in fact, it engorged parts of his anatomy, with he thought already fully primed.  
Without words he knew, that she was not laughing at him, but was delighted with him.

“This,” she said, as she arched against him, with an undulating movement, “is the oldest dance of them all. It pleases the Dark Dancer… and me.”  
That was all the encouragement he had needed. Her body was ready to receive him and he slid home without resistance. 

Afterwards he would not have been able to tell, what had overcome him, except that some feral, starved part of himself had taken over. Mounting his willing partner and taking her with wild, deep strokes. Reveling in the knowledge that for once he was not made to submit, but allowed to dominate a joining.  
And no matter how rapacious his movements – the priestess met him effortless, bowing under the onslaught, with the grace of a willow, while still pushing back, increasing the friction, matching him step for step in this dance.

Still he could feel that he would reach the precipice sooner than she would. And as pleasing as it was that she gave herself to him as a consenting offering, that she was not controlling him, it… grated on him, that she was still… in control… at least of herself, when he needed her to meet him in the same wild abandon, letting go.

Changing his stance, he reached around her. One hand grasping a full breast, thumb rubbing over erect nipple. The other hand gliding over the apex of her thighs. Finding the place where they were joined and just above, her clit. Moving some of the moisture, he had encountered up there, he started to circle and rub in time with his movement inside her.  
Moans fell from her lips, as fervent as the prayer earlier had been, as he growled into her ear: “I know you’re ready to catch me should I fall – but if this is a dance, then I need you to trust, that I will catch you as well.” He bit the sensitive tip of her pointy ear and found a new rhythm. “I want to feel you pulse around me as you come. Push me over the brink with that tight sheath, blade dancer.”  
Pinching her clit, he knew hers finally matched his fervor and soon her inner walls clenched and tightened around him. His name was on her lips as she came. The muscles of her vulva pulsing, making his balls feel ready to burst, as he too fell over the peak. Orgasm ripping through him, he emptied himself inside her eager body, the spasming channel milking him dry.

He was not sure if the stars he saw were in his mind or in the sky, but he closed his eyes to shut them out, blaming the prickling feeling behind the eyelids on their light. He pressed his face against the nape of her neck into the silver tresses, inhaling her scent, while her hair dried sweat, or maybe other another wetness from his face.

Wrapped around and holding her, while still being held by her, they stayed still for what felt like eternity, even though it could not have been more than a moment. A feeling of reference palpable. And then the next stanza of the dance took up – after all the night had only just began… 

“We are all brought forth out of darkness  
Into this world, through blood and through pain  
And deep in our bones, the old song is waking  
We’re here to sing it with voices of thunder and rain…”


End file.
